


long live our love

by guide_to_the_galaxy



Category: Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles (TV 2012), Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles - All Media Types
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Falling In Love, Friendship/Love, Mutual Pining, Teenage Dorks, a lovely idiot who gives donnie headaches, casey is a lovely idiot, in which casey can't keep himself out of trouble and don can't stay mad at him for it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-25
Updated: 2018-09-25
Packaged: 2019-07-17 07:07:51
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,401
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16090568
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/guide_to_the_galaxy/pseuds/guide_to_the_galaxy
Summary: But he looks up at Donnie, whose eyes are drooping as he sags on the stool in Casey’s apartment, who was probably up all night, who Casey kinda is falling in love with--and thinks this’ll settle for an alright first date.





	long live our love

**Author's Note:**

> This is an old fic I wrote and decided to archive here! Please enjoy Casey, the fool, realizing his feelings for Donnie, another fool.

Sometime, in the little weeks and months and  _hours_  he spends with Donnie, Casey figures he was alright- and more than that, really; he was eccentric and  _insane_  sometimes and for some godforsaken reason he just happened to have a nerve about the way he carried himself that  _cared._ He cared when he swore he didn’t, and the glow of his eyes, the reflection of the brilliant city lights in them, in the darkness of his bedroom- wild and terrified- epitomizes it.

But Casey’s finding the knack for soothing, he likes to imagine.

“Hey, I’m  _okay,_  Don…” he reaches and snatches his hand so he could stop pacing and maybe Donnie only did that so he’d never have to see Casey this badly beat.

His only guess is the tearful look on Don, and the way his eyes clouded over as he gulps, “Well…well someone has to-” he huffs, thumbs hooking onto his belt, “Let me at least clean you up- you’re getting blood and  _germs_  on my bed. A-and if you think that comes out, guess again,” Donnie grumbles, sniffing sharply.

Casey tries a beam- and it comes lopsided and drunken- but he keeps it there till Donnie snickers wetly and pushes his face away gently. He was trying a softer edge, to cool the swelling anger he had for Casey now, and it was obvious, like everything about him was; he could never hide well, but he was getting better with each new conflicting emotion that lived and crept inside his mind.

It takes a minute for Casey to realize Donnie’s been staring intently at his shoulder, and only from that does he make out how out of place it was, the throbbing numbness to it.

Breaking his gaze away, Don drops his beaten up first aid kit, with resin and rubbing alcohol, band aids and a needle with some thread to it, and a dopey grin that  _tries_ again, and churns and falls when his eyes fall back on Casey’s bruised face; a quiescent hollow kind of thing takes the light out of him, and wipes that smile in an  _instant_ as he tears open the pack of bandages, eyeing Jones with venom to hide in his stare.

Casey wonders what’s going on in his head, why he’s angry and sad and something so on the cusp of bittersweet, but can’t seem to draw his thoughts together, and he is colder now. If Casey thinks he shivers, in the warmth of his room, then Don doesn’t pay it any mind as he scoots closer on the bed.

And he sighs tirelessly, touching the scar along Casey’s forehead, mumbling, regrettably, something about stitches and stupidity, tracing the gash; and a car cruises down the street, its headlights cut by the blinds, and graces Donnie’s face softly, becoming captured in his broadened eyes, shining over the blood on Casey’s nose.

And Casey feels Don turn his head, the joints in his neck popping at the slight twist, “I..I think I broke it or somethin’…” he hears himself slur, feeling detached from his trembling body, blinking with a shaking rapidity to jolt him as if caught in between wakefulness and slumber; in his blurred vision, Donnie nods, distractedly.

“Gee, I could’ve told you that much,” he croaks, the sarcasm falling by the wayside for fear to creep in and take its place, “And yeah, a  _little-”_  and he climbs off the bed, pushing Casey down to the mattress, “Just be quiet and lay down for a-”

“Don…I…look it looks- bad and…our date I know bu’-but I didn’t- I don’t mean ta-”

“Shut _up…_ for one second- please.”

He tears open cotton balls and dabs the antiseptic on the needles, flickering a dark look (not just a look, but a _look-_ and casey’s only been this close to donnie once to actually feel that look) to Casey.

“And…I don’t care  _how_ it happened, or if you _won the fight,_  Jones. Because it happened- again- and you promised it wouldn’t,” he laughs, snuffed and harsh, “‘Oh don’t _worry,_  Don,” he mocks, “‘It’s a onetime _thing, Don._  Sorry I’m an idiot that puts his life in danger to prove I’m full of more testosterone than the other guy,  _D.”_

And Donnie keeps going, much to himself, laughing hysterically, “So guess what,  _now-?_  Yeah, now that makes you an idiot  _and_  a liar,” he says, racking trembling fingers over his head, pacing again, before taking a deep breath, spinning to Casey with a glint that promises  _death-_ or something in equal measure. But it softens, when he gets back down to  _right now,_  and not where the hurt is.

“I’m sorry…” he breathes- and, yeah he’s insane right now with emotions that he can’t control, but Casey can barely make out the words.

And like he didn’t just say all of  _that,_  Donnie turns to his closet, disappearing behind the doors; Casey twitches because, okay, maybe he fucked it up again with Donnie, who’s already trying to grow up faster than he’s supposed to, a paranoid beyond imagination about losing them- him. Casey hates seeing him get like this. When his blood boils and his indignation is felt like some radiating heat. The way he slams the closet shut, eyes falling away to the floor, solidifies that frustration.

And the fear.

Maybe what Casey doesn’t understand, he thinks miserably, is what fuels that- that Don’s _fire_  is his love.

He can’t get it-  _grasp that-_ because he sets his own body and spirit aflame by a different kind of passion. The fire that ate away, selfishly.

Donnie drops on the bed and balls up the t-shirt, touching the side of Casey’s face and leaving his hand there for a little while. Casey stares dazed at his spinning ceiling fan, going in and out of being there as Donatello moves his hand away, suddenly self aware, “Okay, I…I need you to bite this and try not to scream so loud, alright? I’m going to put your shoulder in pla- hey, Jones-” he slaps his cheek, and Casey comes back to himself, conscious of the frigidity of the fingers against his throbbing temples.

“Wha…w-wuh?”

“Case, you ha- you  _have_ to stay with me here, understand me, Casey? You have to stay  _with me,”_ something is  _begging_ in Donnie, a crack in him, a fissure in his croaking octaves but jumbled distortedly in Casey’s thoughts, “Bite this and don’t pass out, please.”

He sees him, he sees his over bright eyes and loses touch in the girth of them as the cloth brushes against his tongue.

And he feels himself nod, eyes rolling back when Donnie yanks the bone into place.

* * *

The world comes back into view with sleet and a ceiling fan and quipped sniffs.

He tastes the acridity of blood, feels it dried in his nostrils.

A hand stills him as he groans awake, eyes darting to find Donnie’s frightened eyes and fresh gauze.

Moaning, he slips back into his own dreamless sleep, telling him how sorry he was before he sinks into the mattress.

* * *

 

They enjoy some offshoot breakfast and talk about life and some kind of meaning to it the next morning. Donnie wasn’t going anywhere, but he wished he could, he wished a lot of stuff- wished this was over and that he didn’t have to lose  _everyone._ And Casey was going to get a motorcycle.

“‘S gonna be…red,” he says, envisioning it with a dreamlike simper, “A-and I’ll get as  _far_  away from here as possible.”

Donnie snorts around his oatmeal, “You won’t- go, I mean.” 

He’s right, and he stirs it thoughtfully, glancing up to Casey, “But I can build- I mean, I can…help you build it, if you want. I don’t care.”

“You do…” Casey murmurs, biting into an apple, “Care, I mean.”

And Donnie smirked, Casey thinks he remembers, staring at his swollen, black eye, “Yeah…possibly.”

This wasn’t the l _et’s sneak into the museum_  perfect first date night Casey Jones imagined (and he’s so sorry, so, so sorry for being  _him_ and screwing with it) but he looks up at Donnie, whose eyes are drooping as he sags on the stool in Casey’s apartment, who was probably up all night, who Casey kinda is falling in love with-

-and thinks this’ll settle for an alright first date.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope ya enjoyed, let me know what y'all thought! I just love these dorks a bunch and felt like writing about them loving each other too?


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